Visions of Gold
by Naivim
Summary: Dreams of the long-lost splendor of his home plague the mind of the prince-in-exile Thorin, who realizes he has inherited a duty that goes beyond the mantle of leadership. This is the story of how he set out to reclaim Erebor, with the aid of unlikely companions, among whom he finds friendship, loyalty, and the unexpected warmth of love. Thorin/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The crackling of the fireplace broke the silence with what little strength it had left. Small flames danced at the very center of ash-ridden logs that were burnt beyond recognition. Thorin Oakenshield lay wide awake, although his eyes remained closed. His mind was racing with images of the dream that had interrupted his rest. These images were hardly new, but the effect they had on him seemed ever greater as each night he woke sooner and sooner until he felt he would never know sleep again.

He dreamt of his home. But not the old, abandoned, dull home that now lies at the feet of a mountain. But of the glorious sight it once was when he was young. In his mind, the streets of Erebor seemed brighter than what older dwarves may remember. The houses seemed full of merriment, and the people full of joy. His grandfather's halls seemed to glitter with the shine of gold and jewels displayed proudly on each wall, on each step, on every place to which the eye may wander.

His grandfather, had he still been alive that night, would have also remembered the glow of the jewels and the bright shine of gold above anything else. He would have remembered the Heart of the Mountain, a rare jewel of inexplicable beauty, as the symbol of his house hanging without a base over his height as he sat on his throne. But the King was no longer among the living, and it was those glittering thoughts of exaggerated wealth that reduced his fate to blood. Now similar thoughts plagued the mind of his grandson, the prince-in-exile, the oaken prince, not anymore the young lad he was on the day the great drake came.

Had he been but a few decades older, or had he not been in the royal halls the day that Smaug the Terrible descended upon his family's mountain, had he been but a dwarf commoner walking along the stone streets of the city below, he might have secured in his mind memories quite different from the ones he safeguarded now. He might have remembered the terror hunting among the people like a wild bear, the sight of stone falling upon stone, crushing everything on its path, kind or wicked; the heat of the flames melting metal upon skin or the smoke rising like a black veil over everything that was once fair.

He remembered only the cries of those who were still inside the city as those few dwarves whose names never made it into legend, closed the blazing gates in hopes of allowing those who had already escaped the inferno to reach a safe distance from the great beast; binding not only their fates to darkness, but also the fates of all others who had not had a chance to escape. More than one noble dwarf was slain by the despair of their kinsmen on this day, but this, Thorin never knew. He only knew the echoing cries and had never dared to imagine the rest. The presence of this memory upon his mind, however faint, always turned his heart to icy stone.

And now, thoughts of how Erebor stood proudly under the sun, unaware of what awaited it in the coming years, and glorious both in wealth and in power, plagued the oaken prince's mind, coursing through his being like the disease that had afflicted both his father and his father before him. But young Thorin, young in comparison to how old his forefathers had lived, knew that he had inherited more than Durin's name. He had inherited a burning pain, a vibrant vengeance, and the desire to see his homeland restored in the name of Durin.

Young as though he was, Thorin was far wise, both in his own thought, and in heeding the thoughts of those wiser than him. He vowed to himself not to fall prey to the same mistakes that had taken both his father and grandfather to an early end. If he was to reclaim Erebor, first he needed a plan. Armies he had none, soldiers he had few, and gold was a sight he had not seen for many decades. The way to dethrone Smaug and release the mountain from his grasp was not to be achieved through the strength of his people's arms; that Thorin knew. How, then, could such a feat be done? Thorin's mind grew empty as no answer was found, and there on his bed he laid still until well after the sun had risen from beyond the mountains.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The sun rose swiftly, bathing the Iron Hills in warm light. Along the cold stone streets of the town walked a dwarf maiden unaccompanied; a rare sight by all accounts. She wore a dress that caressed the stone floor with each step she took; the midnight blue contrasting sharply with the pale white of the stone all around her. Other than her bliss, she carried a small, leather-bound book on her left hand, one of her fingers marking the page she had read last.

She walked past the shops set around the marketplace, briefly glancing upon the jewelry stands with little wonder. She acknowledged the beauty of the gems, but had no desire to spare more than a sideways glance to the stalls. She had grown accustomed to their presence there and she knew there would be plenty of other days in which she could indulge her eyes and shower the hearts of the jewelcrafters with attention and flattery. But not today. Today she held a burning desire to read, her most precious pastime, and there was a book in particular which intrigued her beyond reason. She had a feeling this story would be one to capture her heart and mind, and ensnare her attention well after she was done reading it.

Being a female from a family of good standing, she had the luxury of time and peace to indulge in her habits, and none of the responsibility that came along with it. Before the sun had risen any higher, the young female had reached her destination: the roof of the tallest watch tower west of the city. Ordinarily, no dwarf, female or otherwise, would have been seen in this place, save for the guards whose sworn duty was to overlook the plains beyond the city, placing an ever-watchful eye at whomever may wander into the city limits. Had this been the first time the blissful dwarf had climbed unannounced the steps of the tower, she might have had to explain her presence there; but as it was, many a sunny morning she had climbed those steps before and the guards who preferred the early morning to afternoon shift had already grown used to her presence there.

"Lady Anaêlia," greeted one of the dwarves, "what tale shall you read about today?" He smiled, acknowledging her presence. Ever since she had first come to this tower under the early morning sun, this particular dwarf had always been there keeping watch. At first, even though he had not bothered to send her away, he had been annoyed by her presence. That is, until she began to read aloud the contents of her book. It was a history book, filled with the accounts of recent battles of the armies of King Dáin, some of which the dwarf had seen first-hand as a young soldier. He grew to respect her for her interest in these tales, and came to ignore the rest of the maiden's qualities which were deemed to be less favorable.

"I shall read of romance and how its wings give flight to noble hearts." She answered, smiling, and waiting for the change in the dwarf's eyes that was common whenever she chose to read about anything other than war. Quickly noticing the dwarf shake his head slightly, she carried on with a smile to the corner of the tower where the sun shone best. The bitter chill of the early winter morning made Anaêlia seek the sun's comfort the most, instead of the privacy that she usually found at that height.

The second guard, who had fallen silent since the young maiden had arrived, looked at her from the short distance of his post, silently wondering whether he should disregard her presence at the tower or act against it. He was rather new at this post, and it was with bitterness that he had accepted it. His wish had been to join the army as a foot soldier and prove his worth over the years into higher ranks, bringing renown to his family for the first time. Unfortunately, the weaponmaster had deemed him unsuitable for combat, and recommended to his superiors that his talents laid on his sharp eye for lack of a steady hand. Nevertheless, the young dwarf had hope of proving his worth and he knew that a good word from a soldier might gain him favor with the officials. So he concealed his distrust for the maiden, echoing the demeanor of the older dwarf.

The hours passed and the morning chill began to fade away as the afternoon settled in. Still, Anaêlia read through the pages of her book, in silent contentment, as the dwarf guards looked quietly upon the distance. The plains lay still, the leafless trees asleep below the cold of the winter sky. Glancing over at the reading dwarf-lady, Kilnir, the eldest dwarf among them, broke the silence with his deep voice. "The afternoon is shorter these days than before, and it is drawing to an end. It may be best for you to leave before our replacements come, lest you are eager to meet them." He smiled at her. Although most days he appreciated the stillness atop of the tower, her company broke the idleness that his duty entailed, and for that, he was glad.

Anaêlia reluctantly closed her book and took a moment to gaze up at the sky before standing. Her mind had wandered into the depths of her book, and she never noticed the hours pass away like young birds eager to fly for the first time. Her hands had grown cold again, as had the stone around her. With a polite nod of her head, she took her leave of the tower, Kilnir's gaze fixed on the distance, and the other dwarf's eyes trailing after the ends of her long hair as she descended the stairs.

The marketplace had grown quieter, though still busy with craftsmen and women displaying their creations proudly at the walking crowd. One of them, the jewelmaker from before, called out to Anaêlia from behind his stall, ushering her to come to him. Curiosity engulfing her, she followed.

"I have many jewels befitting the daughter of a dwarf Lord. Do you care to take a look?" If Anaêlia seemed less interested in the jewels at the mention of her father, the jewelcrafter did not notice. Her sigh was inwardly, and she was careful not to show her dislike for him, as guilt reminded her that despite everything, without her father she would not have the fortune of the care-free life she had grown to enjoy.

"I find all of them beautiful, and expertly polished," she flattered skillfully, "yet I do not carry much else besides my book, and cannot offer it to you, as it pales in value." At her words, the craftsman smiled. "I meant not to gain gold from you, my Lady, but to offer a gift to you on behalf of my house. Look upon all of my stock and choose whichever jewel you desire. My wife will fashion it into a necklace that matches your beauty, and that shall be our gift to you." At the craftsman's words, Anaêlia understood his purpose. She did not consider herself beautiful; at least not remarkably so. The gift was intended for her father, who held power in the court of King Dáin, as a dwarf Lord and prime counsel to the King. The common craftsman, like others before him, had sought the attention of Anaêlia in hopes of gaining the favor of her father. Now the beauty of the jewels seemed dull with quiet rage, and Anaêlia tried harder to mask her dislike at her apparent invisibility.

"I cannot bring myself to choose one among so many fine jewels," she managed at last, urging her thoughts to flee from her mind, "you will have to forgive me." At this remark, the craftsman called out to his son, whom the maiden had never seen before. He requested his son and apprentice jewelmaker to choose a jewel for her. The dwarf, similar in age to Anaêlia, seemed taken aback by the request. Still, he scanned through his father's stock until he came to an emerald of deep, polished green. It had been cut into a circle, the gem's patterns adding shine despite the fading sunlight. "A radiant green to naturally compliment the copper of your hair, my Lady." His answer kept her quiet. She smiled politely, but her mind grew with wonder. She allowed herself to think that perhaps she was not invisible after all.

* * *

With a slight shiver from the morning cold, Anaêlia awoke to the chirping of birds outside. Her book lay on the small wooden table, looking particularly uninteresting from the outside. Her mind repeated certain passages from the pages of that book that had stayed with her since the day before. Before morning had fully set in, Anaêlia was already out in the streets. She was careful to leave each morning at a time when her father was distracted in other matters. Her mornings were more enjoyable to her without his company.

The market was already busy with life, although some merchants had hardly begun to set up their shops at this hour. As she trailed the familiar route from the day before, her book still in her left hand, she was distracted by the sound of a hammer heavy at work in a forge. At the end of a pathway, there was the weaponmaster's shop. The wooden door, fitted neatly between the stone walls, remained closed but unlocked. Not fully caring for the meaning of trespassing, Anaêlia silently entered the shop and closed the door behind her. The forge inside, tucked at the far corner of the room, dimmed the light of the torches placed on the stone walls. Only the sunlight that crept its way through a lone window competed against the fiery corner. There was a dwarf hard at work, pounding a hammer into what was to become a sword. Without announcing her presence, the dwarf walked down a curved stairwell that led onto an expansive basement, dug beneath the earth, that seemed to be used as a private training ground.

The room was circular, and an inner ring had been carved unto the stone floor, a few feet away from the cold, dark walls. Torches lit the entirety of the room in a remarkable fashion, bringing to light the wide array of weaponry and armor, hanging from the walls themselves. She stepped closer to the weapons, curious as to their forging. She began to scan the small axes, intricate runes curving along with the blade. She attempted to read them, but found that the light was not kind in that particular direction, and she preferred not to strain her eyes. She walked over to the longswords. These glimmered like treasure in a secret hoard, and were runeless. Walking deeper into the room, she stopped to marvel at a worn armor that was hung proudly as the memory of many battles was etched in the dents and tears that were visible. She felt her heart faint for a moment as an unmistakable sword's point came in touch with her back.

"You are not as quiet as you perceive yourself to be," came a voice, as cold as the steel that was threatening to pierce a layer of her skin. "Who are you and what is the meaning of your intrusion?"

She could feel the blade pointed ever closer at her back, and slowly, instinctively, raised her weaponless arms, her left hand still clinging to her book.

"My name is Anaêlia," she replied, carefully, "and it was my unchecked curiosity that led me into your house." At her words, the sword was lowered, and she took the chance to turn around. The smith stood still, his sword still raised.

"Curiosity? Had I not noticed you were a female since you passed through the front door, you would have been lying wounded within seconds. Did you ever think of that before you acted on _curiosity_?" There was a great deal of disapproval woven into the pronunciation of the last word. The female was unsure on how to respond. She tried to focus her mind on an apology, and a way out, but her mind wandered off to the tales of bravery and valor that were told of people like him who wore swords like his.

"Are these weapons of your own making?" She asked, overlooking both her common sense and his question, "For whose use was this ring built?"

The smith sighed and lowered his sword. There was something in Anaêlia that brought him memories he fought to keep at bay. "I have forged each and every weapon you see here. And on this ground I have trained in all of them. You would be wise to avoid heeding your curiosity before your good judgment. Another may not have reacted the way that I have. You endanger yourself needlessly."

Anaêlia dropped her gaze. It was not the first time she had heard those words, although she recognized in this dwarf a kindness she had not known elsewhere. In time, she rose her eyes and spoke again, "If you have taught yourself, then you must be able to teach any other. Good judgment prays that I be well prepared for when my curiosity is not in check. Will you not teach me to wield a weapon?" At her request, the weaponmaster fell silent, but a faint smile passed unnoticed through his face. The dwarf maiden definitely reminded him of somebody else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Thorin's eyes glided around the circular room. What small wealth he possessed was clear from the furnishings that lay around him; comforts that many of his people have not known even after the years spent in exile. Near him, seated on a tall, crimson armchair, was an older dwarf, deep in thought. He had remained silent for quite some time; outwardly calm, but mind in great turmoil. Thorin was not oblivious to the chaos in his friend's mind. Rather, he had expected it.

"No sight of Smaug has been seen in over forty years." These were the words spoken by Thorin upon watching his friend, a dwarf Lord named Balin, enter the room. He was cautious not to seem desperate or impulsive, nor to show any sign of what may be perceived as greed or madness.

Thorin glanced at the dwarf sitting across him. The burning of the fireplace bathed him in an orange glow that outlined his aging features. His eyes were now fixed on the stone below his feet, hands supporting a forehead heavy with racing thoughts. "We cannot be sure the beast lies dead, despite the rumors," he answered gravely, but did not raise his eyes from the floor. He bore deep within his heart the realization that the young prince's mind was growing alike his father's in the worst possible way; tucked behind this realization Balin hid his disappointment. Memories of the late King's journey resurfaced. An old guilt crept back in, disguised as a pang of sadness.

"Your father grew mad lusting after the riches of the mountains." Balin raised his eyes to meet Thorin's. Closely, he judged every reaction to his words present in the prince's eyes. Presently, Balin continued, "He became but a shadow of his former self, as he pursued a task he knew was impossible. We have survived. You have earned the people's loyalty. You have no need to burden yourself with thoughts of the Worm."

Thorin offered some thought to Balin's words. Would the people be disappointed if he tried to reclaim the Mountain? Would they think him weak or valiant? If he were to succeed, the old Kingdom would be restored. But what if he should fail? Thorin dared to muse over this possibility. He had no heirs of his own. Fíli, his oldest nephew, was too young to lead, and he had not yet earned the people's trust as heir to Durin's line. Without Thorin's leadership, their new home under the Blue Mountains could crumble beneath the claws of anarchy; or it may be abandoned and its inhabitants scattered around settlements of dwarves and men. If he should fail, history would be repeated and the dwarves of Erebor would never know the pride of their homeland again; but, should he never try, his kin would be left knowing only the pain of defeat and their thirst for vengeance unquenched. In Thorin's mind, the only thing that seemed worse than failing was not trying at all.

"Do you not long to see your homeland restored?" Thorin hoped that he may light a spark of hope in Balin. If he could not convince his old friend, he had little hope of gathering enough support from others to be successful.

Over the years, Balin had resigned himself to the fact that Erebor would never be retaken; that he, along with his kin, would wither away in both body and memory, and still Smaug would sleep upon his bed of gold. Bitterly, he had grown to accept it. For years, he prayed that the young prince would similarly come to terms with their reality. He feared that the same shadow that engulfed the late Kings' minds would add another stain of early death to Durin's line. Still, deep within his heart, Balin knew that the prince's mind was decided.

"We may not have the riches we used to know, but we have rebuilt. We have survived. To risk shattering the people's hopes once again…" he finished only in thought, _'I believe it unjust.'_

"We have survived, barely." Thorin argued as Balin rose from his chair to greet the fire. He bowed his head towards the twirling flames while his hands joined behind him. As his eyes were lost among the flames, Thorin's deep voice continued, "Our numbers thin as the seasons pass. No child has been born of our women for a generation. Only in memory is the sight of gold known. The people garner hope from loyalty, and loyalty diminishes as we strive to prosper and achieve nothing."

Balin turned to face his young friend. He raised his voice as he unintentionally released his frustration, "We do not have the strength to march against the might of Smaug; any company smaller than an army would perish before reaching the main gates and these were shut from the inside. Even if the Worm came out from the Mountain, not even a thousand axes would weaken him. It is hopeless."

"Defeating the Dragon can only be done with the strength of our brethren's armies. If the other dwarf clans answer our call, we could muster the strength we need."

"You have earned the people's loyalty." Balin repeated; "Do not repay them by sending them to their deaths." With these heavy words, and an inward sigh, Balin left the room in a few tired strides.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the long wait. A large portion of the story's plot hung on this chapter, so it was very difficult to write for me. Since I'm still undecided on a few things, the chapter ended up being a short one while I figure it out. Also, a note on the time frame of this story: Dates, ages, and similar facts will be manipulated slightly to better fit my interpretation of the characters. For example, Thorin in this story is considerably younger than what he was in the book, and Balin is meant to be his elder by quite a few years. Therefore, the timeline changes a bit.


End file.
